


So an Elf and a Dwarf Step into a Bath

by LenoirWhittlethorn



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bathing, Bonding, Feelsy, Friendship, Gen, Nudity, mentions of marian hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6444574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenoirWhittlethorn/pseuds/LenoirWhittlethorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric pulls some strings in order to give him and Fenris some privacy in an otherwise public bath. Two men considered oddities by their own kind, find mutual ground together. This takes place not too long after Fenris is recruited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So an Elf and a Dwarf Step into a Bath

The silence was as thick as the steam rising from the fresh wooden buckets of hot water. There were many instances where Varric faced such silence, but he knew how to wave it off. “Over here, Broody, is where we discard our clothes.” Varric directed and nodded over at a large wicker basket. 

 

“Hm, it appears the rumors of dwarves having thick skulls are true.” Fenris retorted dryly and approached the basket. “I don’t brood.” 

 

“Heh, and I write non-fiction.” Varric teased and received a cooling stare. Varric took it without furthering his comedy routine, he figured the ex-slave had a limit on how many jokes could be endured. 

 

Fenris didn’t hesitate to disrobe, though he kept his eyes downcast and his head turned so that there wasn’t a chance he’d meet Varric’s eyes. This was the first time he was alone with the eccentric dwarf and they were going to bathe together. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most intrusive thing he had done with strangers and at least Varric gave him a choice. 

 

In Tevinter, privacy wasn’t a luxury, it was a rarity for a slave. There wasn’t a moment where Fenris felt he was in control of his body; someone was always touching or groping or pressing violently against him. Even now, as he looked at his bare arms, Fenris could still feel Danarius’ fingers raking into his flesh. He suppressed a gag.

 

Varric glanced at Fenris while he shrugged off his jacket. It was fascinating how Fenris could be so twitchy at times, yet master the ability to shut out everything. No wonder he never smiled. Varric let his pants drop with a loud clang, a personal habit he had and clenched his teeth when he saw Fenris flinch. 

 

“Sorry, old habits…” Varric let the sentence hang between them as he focused getting his small clothes off. 

 

“You’re telling me.” Fenris grumbled and caught himself staring at the dwarf.

 

It was strange seeing how deft Varric’s fingers were as he folded up his muddied trousers. Actually it was odd seeing a dwarf carefully fold up dirty laundry. The stigmas and assumptions Fenris made were dissolving as quickly as steam in cold air. After Varric deposited his clothes, he rolled his shoulders and sighed. 

 

Fenris couldn’t believe how thick Varric’s arms were; dwarves were known to be stocky, but Varric could easily break a man’s arm if he wanted. Yet the funny dwarf chose words—spoken and written—and only carried a crossbow? Fenris lowered his eyes, realizing that he was gawking and expected Varric to whip around to confront him. The moment never passed, however, and Varric began walking into the bathing area. 

 

Being stared at never bothered Varric too much, after all a captive audience was the best type. And unlike Rivanni’s eyes, Fenris’ didn’t carry heavy lewdness; it was genuine curiosity. The best way to handle the ex-slave was to ask the fewest questions possible; treat him as if he were an old friend that came back into town. 

 

A small twinge set off in Varric’s chest, a thought trapped a breath in his throat. Fenris waited for him to finish undressing and was now following him to the bathing area. Old habits...Varric stopped and slowly turned around, not wanting to give the elf a fright. 

 

“Broody, you pick first.” Varric could see Fenris raising a question, but he held up his hands. “I’m always uncomfortable getting the first pick, being the younger brother and all. Besides with those silver locks, you must be older than me.” He smirked when Fenris rolled his eyes and walked past him.

 

“Who’s the one that has a hard time keeping up with the group?” Fenris retorted, though a small smirk etched onto his face. 

 

“You know me, I detest sweating.” Varric answered with a mock, posh accent, causing the elf to snort. 

 

Varric watched and shook his head when his eyes focused on the elf’s well formed buttocks. It was hard not to look, since it was in his line of vision. He remembered hearing Marian Hawke and Isabela whispering one night at the Hanged Man, slurring about how good Fenris’ backside looked. 

 

Honestly, the women were right to swoon over the elf’s physical features. Still, Varric couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow; how in Thedas did the elf heft such massive weaponry? He seemed more suited for the daggers than the mauls. Then again, Varric was one to talk. 

 

He noted that Fenris picked the spot closest to the corner and he hissed out a  breath. It would take a lot of time for the ex-slave to unlearn his previous life. Varric picked a spot nearby Fenris, but not close enough to be invasive. If Varric knew anything, it was how to maintain distance. Still, he felt the elf’s eyes on him, but he figured if there was something to be said, it would be said soon. 

 

It was this feeling of trepidation that Fenris despised. Everyday in Kirkwall, people engaged in various types of conversation as if it were taking breaths. But here he was, his tongue gluing itself to the top of his mouth, nervous about speaking up. Fenris was good at speaking against people, but he wasn’t in Tevinter and for the moment, he wasn’t fighting for his life. 

 

Sweat slowly formed on Fenris’ lower back and neck. He clenched his hands tightly when Varric looked at him patiently. Fenris swallowed, but it didn’t remove the inexplicable fear of speaking up. Self-doubt began piling up, making him slouch and lower his eyes away from the dwarf. It was such a simple thing, why couldn’t he do it?

 

“Something on your mind or am I that dazzling?” Varric teased lightheartedly and he smiled when he saw Fenris break out of his temporary muteness. He had witnessed it before, from graying women to dull-eyed elf children. That type of silence always unnerved him, he much preferred the awestruck type. 

 

Sheepishly, Fenris let a few chuckles slip out and he relaxed. “Your hair. It’s still tied up.” 

 

While Varric was aware of this, he pretended it was surprising and touched his nubby ponytail. “This isn’t the first time I’ve forgotten.” He sighed and pulled out the hair tie and slid it onto his right wrist. Then he ruffled up his hair with both hands, slightly cringing at how oily his hair had gotten. 

 

“Oh, I see why most depictions of dwarves are with helmets on.” Fenris put a hand on his hip, expecting a fast response. 

 

“Yeah, similar to how most depictions of elves are with forlorn looks.” Varric stroked the stubble on his face and then pointed at Fenris. 

 

An honest laugh bubbled out of Fenris and he flushed from the strange sound. It was the dwarf’s expression that caused such a foreign reaction. He turned away, ending the conversation and fixated on the bucket of hot water. 

 

There was the bucket, two washcloths, a wooden ladle, and a single towel all laid out on a bench. Underneath the bench was the rinse bucket with much cooler water. He almost missed the bar of soap that looked somewhat used, but it could’ve been worse, considering this was a public bath. Varric probably pulled some strings to get them privacy. 

 

Fenris found that was how Varric did a lot of things and it was surprising how well it always worked out. Still, the dwarf didn’t smile much when people weren’t looking and his eyes would sometimes lose their mischievous twinkle. Varric wasn’t proud of a lot of things, just like him. Routine blotted out any remnants of self-conscious thoughts and Fenris grabbed the bar of soap. 

 

There was a time limit to everything, Varric learned the hard way multiple times. When Fenris turned around and began bathing, he didn’t voice any more teasing, though the elf made it too easy. They were given a couple hours of privacy, so constant yakking probably wasn’t the best way to spend time. It was the most conversation Varric had gotten with Fenris though and that was an accomplishment.

 

Those markings went  _ everywhere _ and Varric choked back a shocked whistle. That Danarius did a number on Fenris; it was some cruel reminder that no matter how far he ran, his master still had a hold over him. His memories. And there was no mistake that there were probably scarrings that weren’t visible. Well, to the untrained eye. The slouched posture, the little ticks in the muscles, and the constant downcast expression. And that silence, like an empty Thaig.

 

Varric shook his head and turned to his own washing bucket. He hated Thaigs. The soft trickle of water hitting the stone floor indicated that Fenris already started. Varric ran his right hand through his hair, grimacing again. Hair first. He frowned at the small ladle, it would be better to use his hands. Shrugging, Varric tossed the ladle aside and scooped up some water. 

 

The loud splash made Fenris tense up for a moment and he looked over his shoulder. Varric must’ve used his hands, because there was water everywhere. Fenris looked down at his own little puddle and smirked when he looked back at Varric’s obnoxious pond. Sure, the dwarf succeeded in getting his hair moderately wet, but there were only small rivers of water that covered his dense body. 

 

The rogue began humming to himself when he grabbed his bar of soap. Bianca’s song, if Fenris remembered correctly, became a staple theme of sorts whenever a fight broke out. 

 

Hawke could never contain her excitement when Varric started the tune. Her eyes were bright blue, but they glowed whenever she heard the tale of Bianca. Hawke and Varric were close, but they weren’t lovers. It appeared that all who followed Hawke were drawn to her for various reasons. And Fenris wasn’t surprised, after all, he wasn’t going to ignore how much he was drawn to her. 

 

Heat spread across Fenris’ face when he recollected Hawke’s tone when she called him handsome. The compliment wasn’t brand new to his ears, but how it was said...piqued his interest. Before it was said with the slick accent of lust and Fenris knew it was a thin formality. A poor attempt at justifying his body being ravaged, sometimes the word was thrown about as a curse. They couldn’t help themselves. 

 

But when Hawke said it, there was more than the obvious physical attraction. She looked at him with nervousness, as if she were afraid of trespassing. And the excitement of risking a tongue-lashing. She was making him aware that she was interested in playing a game, not forcing him to play. There was definitely something about Hawke that appealed to him, but if he was going to play, it would be at a slow pace. Her constant visits spoke volumes of how interested she was.

 

Fenris groaned when he felt a familiar tension and a light tapping on his stomach. He was grateful Varric kept his space and they both had their backs turned. His face was burning now; Hawke was their leader and while there was a game, it was too soon. He had to think of something other than Hawke. 

 

Immediately he imagined Aveline giving him a good bludgeoning for not respecting Hawke. That was a plausible situation; Fenris had witnessed many poor souls pitted against the red-headed warrior. None survived. 

 

That did the trick and Fenris quickly dunked his bar of soap into the water. Once it was soapy enough, he lathered up his hands and began scrubbing his hair. Washing the head first was common sense, since everywhere else was filthier and who wanted to wash their hair with dirty water? 

 

When thoughts of Bianca became too much for him, Varric stopped humming. After all, he heard Fenris groaning not too long ago. He had to think about Aveline crashing in during one of his deals and lecturing him for hours in order to calm himself down. 

 

He rubbed the bar of soap all over his person; the neutral clean scent comforted him more than any expensive bathing oil. It was Kirkwall, it was the Hanged Man, and it was also Hawke. Varric scrunched up his nose, the wording sounded off in his head. She embodied a spark that Varric admired, though not romantically. Not like how Fenris silently admired her as he followed. Wonder if the elf knew that he did that?

 

Varric’s hair was a mound of suds and frankly he was itching to dunk cold water over himself. “I’m about finished, Broody, how about yourself?” He turned half-way so that he didn’t put a crick in his neck. 

 

The elf was sitting on the bench, scrubbing his right foot and avoiding eye contact. “Almost done.” Was the curt response.

 

That was a sudden change in attitude, but Varric didn’t take offense to it. People had different levels of tolerance and there were days when he didn’t feel like hearing himself talk. It only took a second glance before Varric realized the possible source of Fenris’ frustration. Being polite, he turned back around, a smirk growing on his face. A part of him, maybe the romantic in him, believed that the ex-slave’s mind wandered to Hawke. 

 

At least he wasn’t the only one who needed a bucket of cold water. 

 

The bucket of water was lukewarm, but on Varric’s heated skin, it was freezing. He gasped as the cold water worked its way down. It wasn’t long after that Varric heard Fenris gasp out in shock. That was the only noise Fenris made, even when the both of them were drying themselves off, he barely made a sound. As if he didn’t want to be heard at all. 

 

Both men wrapped their towels around their waists and walked towards the baskets. Their once muddy, soiled clothes were now neatly folded and cleaned. Varric chuckled as he watched Fenris’ bewildered expression. 

 

“They do some great work, don’t they?” Varric grinned. “I always pay them extra because they’re so quick.” 

 

“I didn’t even hear them.” Fenris muttered. 

 

“I also pay them for that too.”

 

Fenris shook his head as he removed his towel. “I won’t even ask who they are.” He slipped on his small clothes and pants before continuing. “Tell them, ‘thank you’.”

 

Varric put on his coat with a satisfied sigh, then stared at Fenris. “Awfully sweet of you, Broody. You should show that side to Hawke more often. Instead of the prickly sardonic side.” He smirked when the elf looked away. Bullseye. 

 

Both dwarf and elf stepped out of the public bathing area, feeling refreshed. They continued walking, ignoring the small crowd by the building’s entrance, and only stopped once they were near the Hanged Man. 

 

“Thank you, Varric.” Fenris said quietly, still uncomfortable with speaking up. 

 

The words were genuine and Varric took them to heart. “Anytime, Fenris, after all, we’re friends.” He glanced up at Fenris and smiled. 

 

Fenris coughed lightly and nodded. “Yes, well, I should be on my way.” He started walking, hoping the evening air would cool off the strange warm sensation in his chest. 

 

“Off to go brood in your dilapidated mansion?” Varric asked loud enough for only Fenris to hear. 

 

By the subtle turn of his heel, Fenris walked up to Varric. “I don’t broo—”

 

“Have a drink or three with me, then. Humor me.” The dwarf said casually, not even fazed by the scarred warrior’s scowl. “I promise Blondie isn’t in there.”

 

Were people here naturally amicable and social? Fenris knew that Varric was definitely an oddball by dwarf standards. But then again, so was Fenris when compared to other elves. Well, when in Thedas…

 

“You paying, dwarf?” Fenris smirked.

 

“Of course, welcome to my manor.” Varric bowed dramatically before walking towards the Hanged Man. “Ah, one more question, my good man.”

 

“What?” 

 

Varric swung open the door to the Hanged Man and there was that twinkle in his eye. “Have you ever played Wicked Grace?”   
  
  



End file.
